Question mark,
A symbol of lost letters,
Void of emotions,
Exploring tones,
Thoughts fading,
Actions I sought,
Our connection – cut off,
Ceasing my search,
For a treasure,
And yet, to you,
I decided to be vulnerable,
The one who knew me – the most,
A past tense,
Unable to return to,
Like how a question
Delves into unnecessary lives,
The answers to which
Were not even sought,
Lost between these lines,
Alas, as far as I can be,
A change I cannot bear,
So, farewell as I resume my distance.

Lunar Chants

Glow a memory of the past,
And live by yourself at last,
Produce an abstract so vast,
A relic for your eyes to blast,
A symbolic eerie halo to cast
A spell leaving minds aghast,
To our lunar rituals of the past,
We look at your beauty at last,
Within your glory lives a vast
Energetic singularity to blast,
Forlorn shadows start to cast
Under your glow never aghast.


Fifty is a random number,
Attracted by the logical
Mathematical calculating
Alphanumeric functional
Mind that dwells in many
Vastly complex equations,
Fifty can be very random,
But in marketing, it is not,
Simple fact of its worth
Will only be noted when
The equation is challenged,
And instead of an integer
Like fifty, a more profiting
Number is the forty-nine
Point ninety-nine, and
That is the worth of an
Item worthy of a fifty,
Fifty is not that random,
It is half of a hundred –
A number that is labelled
Separately than all others,
A symbol, a century, and
Fifty is half a century,
And so, I choose to write
Fifty random poems in
One challenging month,
And now, I write my fifty.

Leaving Steampunk City

Hold the fort and wait for the cavalry, they said –
Pick our side and you will see victory, they said –
And there was a time when I believed their word,
Where I stood on castles fuming all coloured trees
To ground for trebuchets to fly us out of abyss,
But day after day we painted our great walls
With smog to block our breaths into darkness,
Gates were only opened to nature’s black debris,
Resisting was I to the temptation to leave all
Behind and hammer into similar enslavement
But on a different earth, a different whisper,
Somewhere where the greyness was never the
Symbol of life and all its essence, where our
Lost souls belonged to colours lifting us out of
Abyss without any sign of fumed destruction,
So, I followed my sailing eyes to an unknown
Horizon away from all kinds of hearts of men,
So, I let go of the fort and I picked my own side.

Painting a Portrait

The two-dimensioned dilemma switched sides
To impersonate historical ageless Time where
At one end the black-and-white canvas would
Rotate into a pictorial film and scream aloud
Ancient symbolic letters for peace and justice.

Certainly, this era’s dogma about our truly old
Unpainted portraits revolved around ignoring
The essence of life dismissing the colossal law
Of the starry constellations among our shining
Sun, our glowing Moon, and our celestial souls.

Then the plot thickens after an innocent kid
Picks up brushes and a colour-filled palette
To openly colour its own portrait accidentally
Triggering the reversal movements of Time
As anti-clockwise severely destroys all dreams.

Albeit, the kid grows and learns to unlock
That treasure box and remove the partially
Painted canvas to tear it apart in hope that
One day Time will listen to this kid’s sorrows
Switching back to a one-dimensioned film.

She Never Knew

Envelope the warmth
Around your coldness,
Design a sculpture out of the hug
That wraps over your curves,
Now kiss the skin into rapture
To allow your soul to ascend,
And capture the very eyes
That taps the music into yours,
And when the mind asks
The definition of yours,
It can only describe your
Dazzling beauty beyond compare,
And this is only what I write,
I write not what I do,
For do does not follow feel,
And so, do does evaporate
When the feel condenses
Over the heart’s written
Symbols that I just write;
And yet, she never knew.

The Ideal Stamp

Inscribe on it the tears of society,
To be sent on the edges of universe,
Let this stamp be on postcards,
Let it be on asylum seekers,
Put on it few symbols of life,
Water, trees, sun, or even birds,
And as for the choice of colour,
Let it shine the shades of humanity,
And remove all those numbers and currencies,
And leave but one word,
In hope that every soul whispers it,
As they stick this stamp on an envelope,